“I don’t know what to say.”
She smiled. “Told you. We refer to this as the map room, but it really needs a better name.” She motioned to a bookshelf in the corner. It was crammed with books of different sizes. No, he thought, walking closer. Not books.
“Journals?” he asked.
“Yes. Handwritten travel journals. It’s all very random. Some are detailed. Some barely say anything. A few have wonderful drawings. It’s as if someone went around the world and bought up old travel journals, then brought them all here.”
She crossed to the table and pointed to the map on top. “It’s the United States, just before the Louisiana Purchase. See the detail and how the western part of the country is barely drawn in?”
He stared at the delicate sheet. “You can’t just leave this here. It needs to be preserved. Shouldn’t it go to a museum or something?”
“Possibly, but Mason, this is just one map. There are hundreds even older and more important. And this is just one room. The house is filled with treasures like this.”
He looked around. “That’s a huge responsibility. I’m glad I only have to deal with the house.”
“I figure it will take that year you have until you sell the house. But I’m not worried. Lillian has promised to never die.”
“Let’s hope she keeps the promise.” He’d grown to like Lillian and spending time with her.
“Come on,” Robyn said, starting for the door.
“Wait. I’m not ready to leave. I want to look around.”
Her expression turned indulgent. “We have to keep moving. I want to give you a taste of the house. Now that you know this is here, you can come back later and explore.”
He nodded, then followed her out of the map room. On the way back to the staircase, she showed him a few other rooms. Most were empty, with a few still furnished as bedrooms.
There was an old-fashioned bathroom complete with a pull-chain toilet and a claw-foot tub.
“I think the water’s turned off on this floor,” Robyn said as she started down the stairs. “To cut down on leaks.”
They had to go to the second floor to find another staircase to take them to the third. Here the hallways were wider and taller, the doors more ornate. He’d walked around on this floor a little. There were bedrooms and a big room with a billiard table.
Robyn showed him the dumbwaiter that worked on a manual pulley system. The opening was big enough for a decent sized cart. From there, she led him into a room lined with shelves, all filled with dishes. No, he corrected himself. Teacups and saucers. Thousands of them. Some small, others oversized. Every shape, every color. Some looked too delicate to touch.
“What if there’s an earthquake?” he blurted.
Robyn winced. “Don’t even think that. A lot would be lost, and I would cry.”
“Then I take back the question.”
“When we get downstairs, you need to go outside, turn around three times and spit.”
“To appease the earthquake gods?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “Sure. I’ll take care of it.”
She picked up a teacup done in blue and white. The pattern was a little fussy for him, but then he’d never been much of a teacup kind of guy. Give him a sturdy mug and he was happy.
“I recognize about half the patterns,” Robyn said, putting the cup back on its saucer. “Lillian knows a few more, but some are a mystery. The older ones are probably hand-painted by obscure artists, or maybe just ordinary people being creative.” She pointed to the cabinets under the shelves.
“More teacups?” he asked.
“In some of them. Others have complete sets of dishes. A few are rare and would go for a lot of money.”
“Lillian doesn’t seem to be lacking in resources.”
“She’s not. There was family money on both sides, although I would guess keeping up this house is expensive.”
She reached for a rose-covered teacup. “This was one of Harlow’s favorites,” she murmured. “When she was little, she would beg me to let her hold it.” Her smile turned wistful. “She was always very careful.”
“You miss her.”
She put down the teacup and looked at him. “I do. I was so hurt and angry when I got here, and now I can barely remember our fight. She was always my best girl. I told you she had cancer when she was little.”
“You did.”
“It was awful. She was seven when she was diagnosed. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia or ALL. Cord and I were terrified we were going to lose her. Lillian flew out and took care of Austin the first few weeks. He was so young. We tried to keep his life as normal as possible, but there was no protecting Harlow.”
Her blue eyes darkened with emotion. “Obviously she recovered, and she’s been cancer-free ever since. There’s no reason to think she won’t live a normal, healthy life. But sometimes, she’s difficult. Lillian’s theory is that Harlow’s emotional development was arrested while she was dealing with the cancer, so even though she’s twenty-two, it’s more like she’s still a teenager.”
This conversation was well above his pay grade. “What do you think?”
“That we indulged her, and that’s hard to reverse. She can be a bit entitled.”
“That’s not unique to her.”
“She’s engaged.”
He tried to judge her feelings on the subject from her tone, but couldn’t. “Congratulations.”
“She seems young.”
“You married young.”
“Yes, I did, and I want to say that was a different time. Harlow has so many opportunities.” Her smile turned wry. “I did as well, and I ignored them because I was in love. I just wish...” She drew in a breath. “I’m not sure how well she even knows Kip. It feels like things have happened so fast between them.”
She picked up another teacup. “When she was twelve or thirteen, we talked about her getting married in the backyard. The house Cord and I had together is large with a beautiful view of the water.”
“The house you’re going to sell?”
“That’s the one.”
She would make money from that, he thought, surprisingly disappointed by the thought. What did her having money matter? She was already out of his league. He was just a middle-aged man on a military pension.
“That’s what we fought about,” Robyn admitted. “She was so angry I wasn’t keeping the house. She wouldn’t believe that I can’t get a loan. She said some things that—Well, we haven’t spoken since.”